Category: In the Mountains

The Fry Family Quartet just wrapped up a week in Grafton, Vermont, with the family with whom we’ve made the most memories over the years. Brian, Jesse, JoJo and Becca were amazing hosts, tour guides and playmates. We went hiking, skiing, swimming, and made snow forts. We made cookies, tenderloin, ham and ginger bread houses. We watched James Bond, Harry Potter, Rudolph and Elf. We shopped, played board games and lit fires. We told stories, laughed and cried. And, despite my speeding ticket in Felchville, we all agreed it was the best Christmas vacation on record. We love you BE, Jess, JoJo and Becca. Can’t wait to do it all again in Bellingham.

As soon as the kids were out of earshot, Kristine leaned over and said, “I’m terrified.” I’d been focused on whether we’d all have the right tires for the gravel trail. I had not considered that others might be concerned about the possibility of falling to our death. That is, until I was half way across a trestle and looked down through the railroad ties, which were spaced about 12 inches apart – too close together to allow you to slip through, but far enough apart to make your heart rate quicken.

On day two of our 2018 Fry Summer adventure, we drove to the top of Myra Canyon outside of Kelowna, BC. Once there, we unloaded our bikes to ride the 12-kilometer length of the Kettle Valley Rail Trail that winds along the canyon ridge over 18 trestles and through several tunnels.

The Fry Family Quartet is now of mostly equal riding ability, which makes little adventures like this possible. Moments of terror notwithstanding, we all enjoyed the ride, which gave us the most amazing views of the canyon below, despite the hazy skies caused by BC’s wildfires.

Ruby and Kristine returned to the trailhead before Henry and I. Upon our return, we discovered them enjoying an all-American picnic in the back of our pick up.

If you ride a bike and ever find yourself near Kelowna, a ride along Myra Canyon is a must. It’s way more beautiful than scary.

“What a perfect day” I said to myself as I drove our minivan up the winding road leading to Mt. Baker with the rest of the Fry Family Quartet this morning. Blue sky. Cool temperatures. No wind. A perfect day for skiing. And then, from the back seat, Ruby said, “I puked.”

I quickly pulled over to the shoulder, opening the windows as the car slowed to a stop and Kristine crawled into the back to inspect the situation. Yes, Ruby had become car sick. All over her shirt, snow pants and her brother’s hot cocoa travel mug. We then realized we had no towels and no change of clothes for Ruby. Note to self: give the kids Dramamine before driving up the mountain. We decided we’d buy a new shirt at the ski shop and power through.

Within a few minutes of continuing on our way, Ruby was in good spirits – making jokes about the hint of cinnamon in her vomit from the waffles she’d eaten for breakfast. Pretty soon, it was the rest of us who thought we’d be sick.

With our mini disaster out of the way for the day, we proceeded to the mountain for what turned out to be an amazing day of skiing. Henry, Ruby and I roamed around the mountain while Kristine caught up on her reading and people watching in the lodge.

Our second nauseating moment came later in the day when we witnessed a naked skier jump into the slalom racing course. Did I mention it was cold?

I’m proud of the entire Fry Family Quartet today. Way to puke and rally, Ruby.

The Fry Lodge Year-in-Review video is a good opportunity to reflect on an entire year of adventure, change and growth for the Fry Family. 2017 was quite a year. We made some nice friends in Bellingham, traveled all around North America… again, and [re]learned several skills, including snow skiing at the end of the year. We can’t wait to see what 2018 brings.

Today, Henry went snow skiing for the first time in his life, and I joined him. The last time I skied, George H.W. Bush was president – back when I still had knee cartelidge and my original ACL. I was a more than a little anxious to get back on the slopes, but Henry has been so excited about learning how to ski, I had to try. So, at 6 am this morning, with a brace on each knee, little Fryman and I pulled the minivan out of the Fry Lodge driveway on our way to Mt. Baker. As Henry slept on the way up the mountain, I kept saying to myself, “This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy.”

Crazy? Yeah, crazy awesome. At several points during the day, both Henry and I said to each other, “This is amazing.”

We were the eager beavers of the mountain. With a parking spot right in front of the ski rental shop, we were first in line to sign up for lessons. Henry looked a little panicked when I told him we couldn’t be in the same ski instruction class, but he confidently joined his group as we went our separate ways for 90 minutes to learn the snow plow and how to turn.

A lot has changed in 30 years. Skis are shorter, bindings are more forgiving, and boots are a hell of a lot more comfortable. Over the course of my lesson, my muscles somehow remembered how to ski, and I almost felt 17 again. When I rejoined Henry post lesson, it was clear his life had changed forever. I seriously don’t think he’s ever had this much fun doing anything.

After dozens of chairlift rides, and as the sun started to set, we called it a day. On the drive down the mountain, Henry decided we’re going skiing again this Thursday. He also gave me some of his reactions to the day. He thought it was great that we didn’t have to pay each time we got on the chair lift (I agree). He also admitted that he’d envisioned something completely different. For example, he’d expected us to take the chair lift up the mountain, ski around a bit, and then take the lift back down. He thought the actual way they do it is way better (I agree).

“If you had to choose, would you rather underestimate or overestimate?” This is the type of question from Henry that formed the basis of our 3-hour conversation as we made our way to Lost Lake and back this sunny fall afternoon on Chuckanut Mountain. Henry had slightly underestimated how long the hike would take us, and I had overestimated my ability to keep up with this boy, who has benefitted from a soccer season of constant running. Neither of us minded the time nor the exhaustion, which were far outweighed by the scenery and conversation.

This fall, Henry has been enjoying regular outdoor adventures made possible by Wild Whatcom, Bellingham’s year-round outdoor program for youth. A few weeks ago, the program took him to Chuckanut Mountain; so today Henry acted as my tour guide along the trails he and his buddies had previously explored.

Along our path, we crawled inside “the cubby holes,” descended “the stairs,” and finally ate lunch while hanging our feet over a log jutting out into Lost Lake.

Throughout the day, it occurred to me that Henry has turned the corner to early adolescence. He easily shook off having accidentally submerged his boot into the lake, something that not too long ago would have ruined his day. When we became momentarily lost, it was Henry who proceeded with confidence to find the trail again. And, as we hiked 2 miles straight uphill, it was Henry who left me in the dust. Henry Fry, he’s not to be underestimated.